Excerpt: Romeo 36

Romeo 36 walked down the hall. He still didn’t understand the point of this operation, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t his job to ask questions. It was his job to execute the terms of the operation and report back for the next job.
As he stopped to wait for the elevator, he peered out the window. Their rotation was such that he could see daylight on Earth. He could see Africa, and the remnants of Europe. He had only ever seen Earth from the Moon. Sometimes he wondered what it was like on the surface, but that was a magnificent waste of time. No one had been to the surface for nearly 140 years.
The elevator stopped on his level and shot him down towards the central offices near the center of the moon. He was meeting with Tango 9 who was to give him the final details of the mission. It was a bloody waste of time as far as Romeo 36 was concerned. Why humans maintained their sentimental attachment to the desolation that was their home planet was beyond him. They had successfully colonized three planets and their moons. Their lives were spared. Let the earth rot for all he cared.
The doors opened onto the wonderful sterilized environment of the military offices. It was here that he felt the most comfortable. Even at the moon’s core the air held a chill that would border on uncomfortable to most people. Of all the colonies, the moon was still more of a military outpost and held little of the luxuries those assholes on Mars, or Venus were enjoying. Jupiter was probably freezing too, but it didn’t matter since most of them were criminals anyways. It was like the modern equivalent of Australia. But colder.
Romeo 36 recollected his thoughts to the task at hand as he approached the ID station. He found his mind wandering more and more recently, but knew that he needed to have everything in one receptacle for this mission. One fuck up on the surface and they’d be warming up his spunk for Romeo 37. The retinal scanned his eye and without looking he laid his hand on the print plate.
“Please identify yourself,” Helen asked in her cool, mechanical tone.
“Romeo 36,” he said. ‘Is she real?’ The thought cracked through his head before he could stop it. He shook his head to regain his concentration. Thoughts like that could lead to being discharged. Or worse: deactivated.
“Welcome,” Helen stated in her best assimilation of warmth. “Tango 9 is waiting in cell 14.”
“Thank you, Helen.”